When a Great Mind is Lost
by K. A. Ellen
Summary: Sherlock can't face reality, especially when he doesn't know which one. Dreams keep changing to nightmares, and nightmares are becoming real. With such a great mind, is it really that hard to get lost in it? T for language, violence and romance.
1. Unwilling Dreams

"Did you have the dream again, Sherlock?"

I didn't answer her question. I never do.

"You know, it's much easier to accept reality if you try to encage in it."

I continued to glare at my psychiatrist. My eyes tensed as I willed myself to wake up.

She sighed and laid down her clipboard. "Sherlock, do you know where you are?"

I closed my eyes and tightened my fists, slowly driving my nails deeper into my skin. I squeezed my eye sockets closer and bite my lip hard, tasting blood and hoping the pain will help. _Wake up_ I tell myself,_ remember._

"You're in a hospital Sherlock. You're locked away. This is reality. This is the real world. There's no Baker Street, there's not even a London, and there's no John to- "

I snapped open my eyes at the mention of John. _My _John. "Don't," I hiss, "speak about him."

She smiled, obviously happy to get some form of reaction from me.

"Tell me some more about John." She coaxed. "Tell me why you care so much about him. Tell me how this man won such a deep place in your heart."

"I told you, I don't have a heart." I snapped back. All I wanted was to leave. To go back to John, to go back home. My real home.

"I think we both know that's not true." she smirked and tilted her head towards me; her unspoken words hung in the air. "Prove it" her eyes said.

"I'm sure that if John were here right now, he'd want you to talk to me." She suggested, her last attempt to get me to communicate. She had no right. No reason at all to mention my John. Hearing his name from her lips made my stomach turn in pain and made my vision go red.

I slowly filled with rage. I couldn't hold it back anymore. I screamed at threw myself at the woman, aiming for her throat.

Then it all goes black.

* * *

><p>My eyes fluttered open as I felt John's hand grasp my shoulder. "Sherlock? Sherlock are you okay?"<p>

"Hmm." I managed to respond. "What?"

John shook his head at me, obviously dissapointed. "You can't sleep here." he said. He pushed back my curls, trying to get a better look at my face. I could feel the pain on my forehead, realizing it ment I must have fallen asleep lying on something hard.

I grunted, "I can sleep anywhere I like, thank you very much."

"Not on my laptop you can't." John reached down and graped his computer from under my chin. It wasn't hard to figure that I had falled asleep while finishing the details of the case the night before. I never slept while on a case, but 5 days without as much as a nap had taken quite a toll on me. "What do you want for breakfast?" John asked me as he pluged in his laptop and headed to the kitchen.

"You know I don't eat breakfast."

"Yes, well, you finished your case, didn't you?"

"Yes. Of course." I huffed. Sometimes John showed far to little faith in me.

"Then you're going to eat breakfast today." I opened my mouth to protest, "No buts about it Sherlock. Now, clean off the table so we have somewhere to eat." John had picked up his spoon and waved it, motioning me to the kitchen table, which was currently covered in unfinished or continuous expiraments. "And wipe it down in bleach once you're done. God knows what crap you've let sit there. I'd like to eat without the smell of mold around me." John smiles at me as he moves around to the pantry to retrieve flour and sugar. I sighed and made a big deal about having to move my work. I groaned and threw my hands in the air, defending the mycotoxins I was trying to analyze, then I saw John making his way to the refrigerator. _Uh oh,_ I thought, realizing I had forgotten to replace John's milk last time I used it all.

Once he finishes measuring the dry items for our meal, (pancakes I deduce, simply because it was the quickest meal John could prepare and his amounts of dry condiments had confirmed it,) John opened the fridge door and began to rummage for the milk. I gulped.

I froze in place and watched as his shoulders slowly tensed up with the anger he was so obviously trying to keep under control. I heard him breathe in deeply, and without turning around, John slowly mumbled my name, "Sherlock...?"

"Yes John?"

"Where's the milk?"

"It should be in there."

"Well it's not." I didn't answer. "Sherlock. What did you do with my milk?"

"It's, um... well... Yesterday I ran out of liquid colloids to use to analyze as a base source for my light to life span reference, hoping to tie in some attention to the sunburned water victim last week, and I used it in an expirament to-"

"Sherlock!" John turned around and glared at me. "How many times do I have to tell you, MY stuff is NOT for your epiraments!"

I looked down to the floor, trying my best to avoid John's bellowing. Only John ever made me react this way. I knew one of John's few pet peeves was when his things were used without his permission, and he had already made quite the exception with my usage of his laptop. I hated seeing him angry like that. No other human begin was able to make me feel shame the way John did when he glared like that. "...I'm sorry John." I mumbled.

John leaned over and grabed the bridge of his nose. Closing his eyes he sighed. "Never mind that now. But, God, you need to learn to leave my stuff alone," he shook his head, leaning back to look at me. "Fine. Whatever. Just go run down to the store and grab some, will you?" he used his hand to shoo me towards the door and continued working to clean off the stove for cooking. Somehow John always managed to make himself look much taller whenever he scolded me like that. I assumed it was from his years in the military, but lately I had began to realize that he never really was all that strict, a little demanding, yes, but never harsh. More than likely John had simply picked up that trait to make up for his lack of height. Not that I minded, I rather like John's size. He always seemed to fit perfectly into my arms. I had to hold back a chuckle as I hastily grabed my coat and scarf and hurridly put them on.

"I'll be back in a moment!" I shouted, eagerly willing to do anything I could to make up for my fault.

"Yeah, yeah. Just get on with it you bloke." John answered. I could hear the smile he was trying to hide when he spoke. I rushed down the stairs happily knowing I was already, more or less, forgiven. John never seemed to be mad at me for long. I was one of things that I truly appriceated about him.

Quickly I ran out onto the street and around the bend to the grocery store on the corner. I rushed in and out within six minutes (I would have been faster, had the chip-and-pay machine hadn't held me up. John was right; those things must have some sort of evil built into them).

I hurried home as fast as possible, knowing John would have completely forgiven me by the time I made it back. He was the only one I knew who could put up with me so well.

As I reached into my coat pocket fumbling for my keys, a movement above caught my eye. I looked up to see the curtain move. I grinned; John had been looking for me to return. He was surely over this rediculous possessive argument by now. I looked down to take the key in my hands. It was quite small for a key, brass shaped with a retangluar head, and a slim body that went deep into the socket. It had a tag attatched to the end, reading 221 on it. Oddly enough, whenever I thought of home, it was this key that came to mind. Well, after John's face of course.

I had just slipped the key into the lock when suddenly felt this heavy weight on me, weighing me down. I stopped breathing._ What's going on... what's happening to me?_ I looked up to the room, but John had not returned to the window. No one, save the few passerbys in the cars, was there to witness my attack. I knew that none of them would stop to pay attention to a man lying on the ground, this was London after all, it wasn't exactly rare to have drunks lined up on the pavement. I filled up with a rare feeling of fear as I fell to ground, managing one final breath before I blacked out. My vision was already gone as I tried to make one last attempt to call out.

"John..." I manged to whisper. And then I was gone.


	2. The White Room

_Thank you to everyone who added this to their update list! I was surprised by the number of people who had already seen this in just a few days! And thanks to my wonderful review! Sorry if these take a while to update at first, since I'm trying to stay a few chapters ahead incase of last minute editing. By now I'm about 3 or 4 chapters ahead. I'm writing this in my spare time while also studying for exams so it may take awhile (ugh)_ _but don't worry! I fully intend to keep writing as long as people keep reading. The end of this story will result on my feedback though, so please keep me posted on the things you enjoy and the things you don't. I have six different endings in mind at the moment. The final result may shock you._

_This chapter takes place in the facility, and Anderson and Lestrade are introduced. Everything may seem a bit vague at first, since Sherlock himself doesn't fully grasp what's going on most of the time._

_Please keep reviews posting and please enjoy._

_-K. A. Ellen_

* * *

><p>My eyes snapped open. I was once again in the white room. Not the room from the previous dream, but the bedroom my dreams sometimes force me into. The wieght from before still remains heavy on my chest, and it's still difficult to breathe. I attempted to lift my head up and try to see what could <em>possibly<em> be so heavy as to hold me down, but unfortunately my eyes were greeted by the horrid sight of Anderson.

_He's no more plesent in my dreams than he is in reality,_ I thought to myself.

Anderson was seated and facing forward, acting as if he was a child bouncing in his favorite chair; firmly placed square on my chest and showing no attempt to relieve the pressure. "Looks like the psycho finally woke up," he said, as he looked down and saw me glaring at him. He leaned far over to his right, bending his neck so he could speak to my face. He put his nose to mine, smirking at me and grinning horribly, "It's almost med time, Freak."

I gaped at him; unable to respond since I was currently at a loss for breath. He laughed as he sat up. "For awhile I thought you'd be out for a few days again. They knocked you out pretty hard back there. I was just checking that you were still breathing. No need to thank me," he beamed. He seemed in an unusually good mood, even for a dream Anderson.

"Would you shut your mouth, Anderson?" I had regained my breath and snapped back. He was always a prat, no matter where he showed up.

"I mean _seriously_ though, what did you do? They had to send in security to get you out of that place. None of us were surprised to see you wheeled out at the end. I could hear the screaming all the way in the west wing during the DAR session." Anderson's face twitched a bit when he mentioned his drug and achohol rehab. Sometimes it was almost humorous to see him in my dreams. He was just as pathetic and idiotic, of course, but here he was finally getting a taste of his own medicine. The story that my mind had concieved was a bit detailed and quite confusing. Apparently at the age of 15 he was admitted into a 3 week rehab that worked for maybe 4 years, but by the time he turned 20 he was back into coke, hash, THC, and much more. He hid his addiction somehow, and by the time he was 27 he had set up his own network of dealing. At age 30, however, his mother of all people, caught his blazing up when walking past him and his buddies on her way to the store. Two weeks later I had a roommate. I didn't really remember my dream life without Anderson, but I knew there was one before him. Dreams, of course, are always confusing. Withdrawl had made him much more unbarable as time went by. I had faced Anderson in many dreams in many moods, cranky being the most common.

I must have let some of my confusion show, because he grinned wider and snorted, "You really don't remember? God you're such a freak," he shook his head and laughed. I knew there must have been a connection between my last dream and this one; there always was. I rubbed the back of my neck, which was unbelievably sore for some reason. All I could remember was I was angry, and about to attack the woman...

_Oh, _I thought, realizing what must have happened, _I _did_ attack her._

"They had to bloody tranquilize you." he was obviously humored by this, "knocked you out until just now."

"Oh shut up." I rolled my eyes. I had already figured it out, I didn't need this moron explaining anything to me.

As I spoke I heard the door at the front of the room unlocking. Our room wasn't exactly small, but it was just big enough to hold us two. A twin sized bed laid on each side of the room, mine on the right, Anderson's on the left. Two identical dressers stood inbetween them, dividing the room in half. On the right wall at the foot of my bed there was a door leading into our petite bathroom. In there was a toliet, a sink, and a shower (no bath of course, we wouldn't want the patients to drown themselves). And finally, right in the middle of the bare wall, parallel to the dressers was the door, locked from the outside obviously.

"What? You don't like my help? I was just _reminding_ you," Anderson stated, willing for a fight.

"No. I don't like living with your vauge intelligence and your constant gawking like a raptured dinosaur."

The door had silently opened and Lestrade walked forward. Anderson was facing away and hadn't seen him approach, he opened his mouth to answer with some stupid insult when Lestrade spoke up. "Now boys, can't we all just get along? Just for one day?"

Anderson's head snapped around. Obviously embarrassed to be caught in a petty fight, he lowered his head. _Childish moron,_ I thought.

"Good morning, Lestrade," I replied, not bothering to answer his question.

"Sherlock, good thing you're awake," Lestrade said as he approached me, "I'm supposed to bring you these pain medications for the- erm- shock earlier." He handed me a plastic sup of water, and a small paper container, similar to the ones you'd probably use for holding ketchup at a fast food restaurant. Instead of sauces, however, it held two pills; one 200mg of a common asprin, and one small 5mg tablet of eszopiclone.

I smiled at Lestrade. I suppose my mind had convinced itself that the best way to drive me through a bloody hell like this was to relate my friends, and enemies apparently, to the position they would probably uphold in a world such as this one. In here Lestrade was our medical rep, giving Anderson and I the prescriptions we needed. He was also Anderson's DAR leader and his personal motivation coach, which was why he tended to behave so much nicer when Lestrade was in the room.

"Sure." I said, holding out my hand. It was best to play along with these characters until I woke up. All I had to do was will myself to fall asleep here, and then I'd be back in 221B before I knew it.

Lestrade handed me my medications and gave me a weary smile. He always seemed to be truly concerned about me. "You had us worried back there, Sherlock." he said as he looked me steadily in the eyes.

I stared bluntly back, "Oh don't worry about me. When I die I can gaurantee you it will be of my own, _full_ intentions."

Lestrade's eyes flashed with a sense of fear as I said those words, but my gaze remained steady as I politely smiled back. "Now if that's all..."

He managed to snap his mind back in time to answer me, "No actually, I'll be needing Ben here as well. They're having a group threapy session that I think would benefit you nicely," Lestrade said as he turned towards Anderson. I snickered, I always thought hearing Anderson's fist name was comical enough, but his obvious hatred of that name was even funnier. Afterall, who would name their child Benjamin Anderson? Completely boneheaded, I know.

"Sure, Greg." he answered. Mentors and patients were required to be on a first name basis, so as to "break down the barrier" or some crap like that.

"Well get along with it, _Benny_." I grinned.

Anderon snapped his eyes back at me and gave me what I suppose was a mean glare, but it did nothing to stifle the humor of my mood.

Lestrade gave me a warning look as he put his arm around Anderson, leading him out the door. I waved at them as they walked out, feeling what I supposed seemed to be a cheery manner. Every now and then I could enjoy a small moment of amusement in this hell for a lucid dream. They even seemed almost logical. I was surprisingly calm at the moment, which I knew for a fact was a short term side effect of one being tranquilized. I knew of these effects personally from (rather painful) experiences, and not just from this dream reality.

The door closed behind them as I laid back down on my bed. I sighed. These dreams were really taking a life of their own. Literally.

I sighed as I looked into my hand. Here in the facility they contantly had to use antipsychotics to sedate me. No long term side effects or addictions, just enough to knock me out, or wake me up I suppose if you think about it.

I first took the aspirin, knowing it wouldn't have a chace to do much before I left. Still, the effects it would cause in my next dream weren't worth the risk, since the staff always came after me here whenever I didn't take any of the medications they gave me.

Next I took the sedative. The recommended dosage of eszopiclone was 2-3mg per a day, but my kind doctors here gave me an illogical supplement of 5mg. This would knock me out for a day, if not 12 hours at least. I smiled. _Finally_, I thought, _a way out._

I eagerly swallowed my pills and gulped down my water, awaiting their desired effect. I closed my eyes and focused, willing myself to go. I thought of the one person who gave me a reason to go back, the one person who actually made it enjoyable to live in reality. Without him, it was almost as bad there as here. I relaxed and focused on his face, his smile, his laugh. The way his giggle could make even me feel happiness. Before him I couldn't feel anything, and now because of him I feel everything. I'd never tell him of course, that would be ridiculous. He'd be scared away and probably never return. But I didn't think about that then. I just payed attention to my wandering brain. I thought of his eyes, which were the most amazing color of brown, gold and blue. His stupid yet charming side smile whenever he called me "Fantastic," or "Brilliant," or even "Amazing," like he did that one time I was able to point out his sister, Harry, from a crowd of complete strangers, even though I had ever seen her picture or met her in person. Not that I needed an ego boost of course. I was brilliant. But around him I just wanted to show off. I just wanted him to be able to show _me_ off. He was my everything. My reason to keep going. My best friend. He kept me focused, and here they denied him. I let myself fall into his voice, and I let myself drift away to where I know he's waiting for me.

_John..._

"Sherlock?"


End file.
